


There's No End to Us

by K_Popsicle



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Best Friends, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Deepthroating, Frottage, Kissing, Love, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-25 21:29:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20731049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Popsicle/pseuds/K_Popsicle
Summary: Bucky loves every curve of Steves body, whichever body it is, because it's Steves.





	There's No End to Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeTaverny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeTaverny/gifts).

> Prompt picks: His Majesties Pleasure (and) Being Better is So Much Harder
> 
> All the porns at the start. I don’t even know why.

When he kisses Steve the first time he’s drunker than he’s ever been, drunker than he can afford to be, and he pushes Steve up against the wall, curves his body over him and pants hot desperation against his parted lips, but he can’t bridge the breath of distance between them. As if Steve doesn’t know exactly what he wants, caught under him staring up into Bucky’s desperate expression, weighing the situation like he knows exactly how precarious it is.

Steve breathes out against his mouth, a slow sighing exhale and says, “Okay,” and Bucky caves into the permission. The tension of his body dissolving into a languid sprawl across his best friends front and he kisses, soft, then hard, then harder, until he’s stealing the breath of the other man’s lungs. Until there’s no space between them just the dig of buttons and the scratch of cloth.

When he realises he’s rolling his hips into Steve, when he realises Steve is pushing back just as hard, standing on his toes, fingers clasping at his sleeves tugging and tugging and pulling, Bucky reaches down, ignores the sound of protest from his best friend, clasps his lower thighs and hikes him up his body and lines their hips up. The first roll after that presses them against each other and Steve breaks the kiss to groan.

“That’s it,” Bucky awes, rhythm unhurried, “just breathe,” and Steve does. Tilts his head so he can watch Bucky through hooded eyes and rides the euphoria as Bucky pushes them both into oblivion.

“You good up there?” Bucky asks from between Steve’s legs, a smile ticking up the corners of his wet lips and Steve can barely breath as he stares down at the man, yet alone form words.

Bucky’s smile droops a little, a frown squeezing his eyebrows together and Steve manages to lift and hand and pat the side of Bucky’s face encouragingly. The smile brightens back up and Steve melts back into the chair, fingers laced in between Bucky’s thick stands of hair and guiding him right back to what he was doing.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate to suck him down again, works Steve’s cock all the way down, and raises his body a bit to get the angle he needs to let it push in down his throat.

Steve makes a noise of protest, fingers tightening, but Bucky warns him with a look not to be silly that Steve doesn’t see because his head’s thrown back lost in the suck slide of Bucky’s warm mouth and tight throat.

Steve groans rough and loud, and Bucky feels the twitch and throb of his best friend's release. He can barely taste it, which is disappointing, but there’s the thick scent of Steve in his nose and that’s good enough for today. Instead he keeps Steve’s thick cock on his tongue, memorises the feel of it until Steve makes a little noise of discontent and Bucky lets him go. The flavour of him dragging along his tongue until he slips right out.

“I’m going to marry you.” Steve mumbles, reverent and blissed out.

Bucky grins, his lips tinge at the overuse, and he ignores it, because Steve looks fantastic, skinny and flushed, debauched on their kitchen chair and staring at Bucky like he is the best thing Steve has ever laid eyes on.

“Told you I was a catch.” Bucky replies, his voice more gravel than normal, and Bucky’s glad he’s looking because Steve’s pupils blow wide all over again. A man in his health shouldn’t be able to go a second round but nobody ever told Steve what he could and couldn’t do so Bucky takes the challenge, pulls his best friend into their shared room and spends the rest of the day worshiping ever divot of the other man’s body.

After Steve lays with an arm over his face, panting and fucked out to exhaustion and Bucky traces ribs and knuckles and any piece of the man he can get away with touching, because when he gets his energy back Steve will swat at him and tell him to stop. 

“How was that?” Bucky asks between the small kisses he’s pressing into Steve’s abdomen. Steve’s apparently not as exhausted as Bucky thought because he swats the back of Bucky’s head.

“Don’t fish for compliments, it’s unbecoming.” Steve orders like an old grandmother.

Bucky licks a strip of nearby skin in relaxation and Steve breaks into laughter.

“What are you doing?” Steve demands, trying to see over Bucky’s head, and he lets him look while he maps out this new part of Steve. Muscles. Steve has muscles now. He’s not sure how it happened, Steve’s barely said ten words about it, but it’s happened and now they’re sneaking through the forests of Nazi Germany on not-so-covert ops.

“Just let me.” Bucky insists and drops to his knees.

It’s hurried, messy. Steve keeps a look out the entire time, aware that they’re in the middle of enemy territory and the Howlies could return at any time. But Bucky doesn’t care. He needs this, needs to feel Steve, to touch him and figure him out all over again because the bastard went and changed on him while he wasn’t looking. Changed so much, and Bucky knows they’re running out of time. Running out of chances. So damn anyone who might see them, because last month he was dead, and today he’s going to live.

“I used to dream about this.” Bucky tells Steve and Steve stills, body tense as he looks down at Bucky.

“About this?” He lifts a hand to gesture to the two of them, naked and sweating in Bucky’s little hut in the middle of Wakanda. Bucky tilts his hips up and Steve slides in a little deeper.

“Don’t stop.” He grumbles, and Steve complies, because he’s oh so complying when it comes to sex.

“Then what about?” Steve pants, hooking one of Bucky’s legs up onto his hip to get better angle. Bucky pushes into that too. Cats his whole body into the torture of letting Steve take his time.

Bucky braces his shoulders to do the heavy lifting and uses his hand to trace the straining muscles of Steve’s neck, rubs his thumb along the stubble under his chin.

“This.” He says, as if it’s self-evident. But Steve doesn’t understand, the furrow in his expression is tightens so Bucky wraps his other leg up around the man, locks his heels together, and squeezes. Steve stutters in his rhythm and Bucky loves it, loves the way his body sings, the way Steve makes it alive and real in a way it’s spent decades not being.

“I love you.” He promises, stupidly, when Steve’s napping beside him. He traces his spine one handed, kisses his shoulder blades, the back of his neck, his shoulder, whichever part of him he can reach. “I love you.” He says again, bolder and he feels Steve shift beneath him. Holds his breath and waits for some sort of punishment. But Steve rolls over careful not to knock Bucky’s balance off, cups the back of his head and pulls him down for another kiss. It’s long and languid, and the tension Bucky let himself build slides away kiss by kiss.

“Just breathe.” Steve murmurs and Bucky does, because Steve is soft and languid, and he’s looking at Bucky the way Bucky knows he looks at Steve. “Forever,” He promises like it costs more not to say it, “There’s no end to this.”

Overall it’s a great way to spend the rest of their lives.


End file.
